


Beginnings

by barbaXbenson



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Barhoun - Freeform, Brotp, But still kind of canon compliant, College Barba, Drabble Collection, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Pre-Canon, Pre-SVU Barba, Rafael Barba & Rita Calhoun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-02-25 23:02:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13223079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbaXbenson/pseuds/barbaXbenson
Summary: A series of drabbles/one shots about the early days of Rafael and Rita's friendship, including college and their days at a private firm. Some may be stand alone Rafael, but most will include Rita and they'll all take place before he became an ADA (but they won't necessarily be in chronological order).





	1. Where It All Began

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of moving my work over (possibly with some edits/improvements) from FFN. Apologies if you've already read this over there.

**Cambridge, MA  
** **1992**

 

He was there, like clockwork, three nights a nights a week, sitting at the back corner table that she’d come to think of as  _ his _ table. It was almost like everyone knew it was his, as it was always open, waiting for him to come in at precisely 7:06pm, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She didn’t work the weekend shift, thank God, but if she had to guess she’d say he was probably there then too.

The boy, or man, she supposed - in their twenties they preferred to be called men, right? Oh, but he still looked so very much like a boy, with his soft face and floppy hair - always stayed until closing, consuming at least a half a dozen cups of coffee, sometimes more if what he was studying was extra difficult. She was pretty sure he didn’t ever sleep, at least based on his late night caffeine consumption, but she was grateful that he was a paying customer. A lot of students ordered one coffee and then set up shop for hours, never ordering another thing.

His name was Rafael, he’d given it to her his first few times in the shop, but now she wrote it automatically on his paper to-go cup at the end of the night without asking for it. And, she’d deduced from the titles on the giant books that he lugged around, and currently had spread across his table, he was a law student like her.

Most of the students who chose this shop to study wore headphones, rotating their cassette tapes through their Walkmans to drown out the ambient noise, but not Rafael. He always remained attentive to his surroundings, giving her a thankful smile when she cleared his empty white ceramic cups. She wasn’t sure how he managed to actually concentrate with all the distractions.

Not that there were any tonight. It was Friday and the shop was empty except for the two of them, everyone else was out enjoying the start of the weekend. She stole a glance at him over the display of pastries, those that remained having gone dry from their hours in the case. His brow was furrowed as he chewed on the end of his pen, a habit of his, before he replaced the pen with a bright yellow highlighter, running it over the text he deemed important.

She glanced at the clock. Ten more minutes and she could go meet her friends. She’d already swept the floor and put all the chairs on top of the tables, except for his, so she’d only have to mop after closing. Even though she’d already done it twice, she ran a damp cloth over the counter just to help pass the time.

Rafael glanced at his watch, eyes widening at the late hour. He flipped his books closed and began stuffing them into a backpack that would barely zip once he got them all in. She didn’t know how his thin frame could cart around all that weight.

“Black coffee to go, please.” He said politely as he approached the counter.

She poured the hot liquid into a paper to-go cup and scribbled his name on the side, even though it was completely unnecessary, while he fished a dollar out of his pocket.

She sat the cup on the counter between them. “Don’t you think your veins are more coffee than blood at this point?” Her eyes widened when she realized she’d spoken her thoughts. It was the first thing she’d ever said to him besides “Can I take your order,” and of course it was something borderline rude.

The right side of his mouth slid up in a half grin and for the first time she realized that he might be a little more trouble than she gave him credit for. “That’s the goal,” he said, handing her the crumpled dollar bill.

She hit a button, causing the cash drawer to pop open with a ding, but let the bill hover over it, for some reason not wanting the exchange to end. “Any fun plans for tonight?”

“Nah, just studying.”

“Even on Friday night?”

He shrugged, adjusting the straps of his backpack when the movement caused them to slip a little. “That’s," he threw a thumb over his shoulder toward the door, where on the other side groups of coeds made their way up and down the sidewalk, laughing and shouting as they made their way to the next bar or party, "not what I'm here for. Thanks for the coffee.”

He picked up the cup and turned to the door, but only made it halfway before turning around. “You know my name.” He held up the cup as proof, her precise lettering spelling out his name across the side. “What’s yours?”

She smiled. “Rita.”

“Nice to meet you, Rita.” He tipped the cup in a salute before once again turning to the door. Only once the bell above it jingled, signaling his departure, did she finally put the dollar in the cash drawer, sliding it closed.


	2. Raf to the Rescue

**Cambridge, MA  
** **1993**

 

Rita’s leg bounced nervously from her perch on the edge of the bed as she held the phone’s receiver tight to her ear so she could hear over the thump of the bass coming from downstairs. After two rings she was afraid that he wouldn’t pick up.  Maybe he was sleeping or had actually gone out, not that he ever did either of those things. 

“Hello?”

Finally. “Raf?” She couldn’t help the way her voice broke at the sound of his and she hated herself for it.

“Rita? Where are you? What’s wrong?”

“Sigma Chi. Can you come get me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there in ten.”

A dial tone sounded in her ear, signaling that he’d hung up, so she returned the phone to its cradle. She ran a hand over her face and took a minute to fight the tears that threatened to spill over her cheeks, refusing to be a cliche. Once she was convinced that she had it together she left the room, fighting her way through the throng of bodies, a sea of bouncing neon, to the front door so she could wait for Rafael.

She stopped on the lawn, wrapping her arms around herself, her sweatshirt fighting a losing battle against the October chill. In even less than ten minutes, Rafael came jogging up the sidewalk, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” He panted, coming to a stop in front of her. Hours and hours of studying didn’t exactly give one great physical stamina.

“It’s so stupid really. It’s just Trevor, he-”

“Did he hurt you?” Rafael interrupted, starting up the walk toward the house.

Rita reached out and put a hand around his wrist, knowing that his smart mouth would likely get him punched, or worse. “No! Nothing like that.” She dropped his wrist when the tension in his shoulders eased and he turned back to her. “I caught him kissing some girl and when I said something he told me to stop being such a clingy bitch.” She finished quickly, embarrassed.

Rafael’s jaw worked, his teeth clenched together. His brain told him that Trevor had thirty pounds of muscle and nearly a lifetime of athletic activity on his side, and that it would be an absolutely stupid idea to march into the house and punch him in the face, but that didn’t stop Rafael from wanting to do so. The look in Rita’s eyes made his own face soften. It would just make her night worse and that was the last thing he wanted.

“Please tell me you told him to fuck off," he said instead.

“Of course, in addition to several other things. I just feel so stupid.” She shook her head, annoyed at herself.

“Didn’t I warn you about dating douchey frat boy undergrads?”

Rita rolled her eyes. Rafael was never one to keep his opinions to himself, it was one of her favorite things about him, and he’d been quite vocal when she’d started dating Trevor who was two years her junior and still an undergrad. She refused to admit that he’d been right.

“Walk me home? I didn’t want to go alone, not after what happened last week.”

Rafael nodded knowingly. A woman on Rita’s street had been sexually assaulted the week before and it had everyone in the area on edge. “Or…” He playfully threw an arm around her shoulder. “You can come help me study patent law. It’s so  _ boring _ .”

She laughed, which had been his goal. “Fine. But you’re buying me pizza.”

“Deal.”


	3. The First of Many

**Cambridge, MA  
** **1992**

 

“...which led the judges to determine that necessity was not a sufficient murder defense.” Rafael concluded, trying to keep a smug smile off of his face. 

“Actually,” a female voice said behind him. Rafael turned in his seat, the same one he sat in every class, second row center, and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw that it was Rita from the coffee shop.

“In _US v Holmes_ it was determined that necessity could be used as a defense,” Rita continued, looking at him defiantly. “As long as the defendant is faultless and had no duty to the deceased.”

“And in Dudley, some forty years later, the judges ruled that there is always a duty to sacrifice yourself for others above self preservation.” Rafael stayed turned in his seat, directing his comments at Rita instead of the classroom. “Besides, it’s out of the realm of possibility that anyone who murders someone, even if it’s to eat them for survival, is completely faultless. Leaving the point moot.”

“So, you’re just going to ignore the judge’s ruling in the St. Christopher case?” Rita challenged.

Rafael scoffed. “Oh, come on. You’re going to dredge up a case from the 1600’s to make your point? The judges wouldn’t even entertain that case as precedent in 1884!”

“Okay, okay.” Their criminal law professor laughed, holding up both of his hands. “That’s enough for today.”

Rafael took longer than usual putting his book and legal pad in his bag, timing it so that he headed for the door just as Rita got to the front of the room. “I didn’t know you were a law student.” He said by way of greeting.

She smirked as they stepped out into the hallway. “And by that you mean you didn’t know the girl who pours your coffee could afford Harvard Law.” She was used to her privileged classmates looking down on her because she had to work. And even worse, had to work  _ serving _ people.

A small chuckle escaped Rafael’s lips as he pulled on a beanie, preparing for the November chill. She noted that it made him look even younger. “Trust me, the guy who spends his evenings working the desk in the law library thinks no such thing.”

Rita looked at him with fresh eyes. No wonder he studied so hard. He had to. He didn’t have money or a powerful father to guarantee his degree.

“So, do you drink coffee or just serve it?” Rafael asked.

“I don’t think it’s possible to survive this place without it.”

“Let me buy you a cup? I’d love to continue our discussion of your misguided stance on the necessity defense.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he held the door to the building open, allowing her to step through ahead of him.

“Hey, if you want to pay to hear all of the reasons why you’re wrong, who am I to stop you?”

He laughed. “That’s a short list. Frankie’s okay?” He asked, referring to the shop where she worked.

“Actually, let’s go somewhere else. I spend enough time there.”

“Sure.” He sent her a crooked smile. “Their best barista isn’t working right now anyway.”


	4. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” Rita said as if she’d just thought of something, but Rafael thought it seemed a little put on. “Why don’t you have Thanksgiving with my family?”
> 
> “No, thanks,” he replied immediately. Family gatherings were bad enough when it was your own family, but the thought of being bombarded by a bunch of someone else’s relatives was enough to make his head ache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's February and not at all Thanksgiving time, but I was given this prompt by the lovely (and patient!) ChameleonCircuit and desperately wanted to write it. 
> 
> *This chapter mentions domestic violence and I've updated the tags accordingly.

**Cambridge, MA  
** **1993**

 

Rita looked over at Rafael from where she sat at the foot of his bed—which also served as his couch, his desk, his kitchen table, etc...—her back against the wall. He was on the opposite end, leaning on his mountain of pillows reading from his Federal Income Taxation text, a curl of hair falling over his forehead.

“What?” he asked, feeling her gaze on him without even looking up.   

“You’re really just going to sit here by yourself over Thanksgiving?”

Rafael sighed and looked up. He’d spent last Thanksgiving on his own, almost literally as most of Cambridge was deserted, and it had gone fine. He’d managed to wiggle the antenna enough to get the Macy’s parade on his TV and he’d enjoyed a mostly edible turkey TV dinner.  “Yes, I am.”

“That’s so sad. Is it really that bad at home?” Rafael didn’t talk about home much. When he did it was to lament how much he missed New York pizza or to tell a story about how he, Eddie, and Alex had gotten into some bit of trouble or another, and he  _ never _ went home to visit, even spending the previous summer in Cambridge working. It didn’t take someone highly intelligent, even though she was, to figure out that there was something keeping him out of New York.

Rafael usually liked how direct Rita was. They got along because they both spoke their minds and didn’t bullshit anyone, especially one another. But at the moment he wished she would keep some of her thoughts to herself.

“You realize that you’re celebrating the mass genocide of Native Americans?” he deflected instead of answering, pushing up the sleeves of his oversized Harvard sweatshirt.

“Nice try.” She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to tell me, but the thought of you staying here,” she glanced around his small apartment, if it could be called that with its two rooms—a main space and a bathroom—two burner stove, microwave, mini fridge, and the aforementioned bed that served as the sole piece of furniture, “makes me depressed.” 

“You’re just going to have to be depressed then.” He dropped his gaze back to his textbook even though he figured concentrating was a lost cause at this point.

“Hey,” she said as if she’d just thought of something, but Rafael thought it seemed a little put on. “Why don’t you have Thanksgiving with my family?”

“No, thanks,” he replied immediately. Family gatherings were bad enough when it was your own family, but the thought of being bombarded by a bunch of someone else’s relatives was enough to make his head ache.

It was almost as if Rita had read his mind, something she’d grown quite good at. “Don’t worry. It’s just us. We used to eat with my dad’s family, but ever since my grandma told my mom she was getting fat she’s refused to go back. My sister couldn’t afford to fly home from London, so you’d help keep some of the attention off of me.”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon. Waltham’s not even that far. You wouldn’t have to spend the night or anything and I’d have the built in excuse of having to drive you home so we can leave early.”

Rafael knew Rita’s hometown wasn’t far, since he’d heard people call her a Townie in a derogatory tone. It was why she paid for her own small studio here in town instead of living at home. He never understood the insult. Was someone supposed to forego Harvard just because they’d been born nearby? It wasn’t something that could be helped, but he’d learned a long time ago that people liked to make you feel the worst about the things you couldn’t control about yourself.

Understanding now that the invite was more about Rita not being the focus of her parents’ attention at dinner, his resolve wavered. He could be a selfish bastard at times—well, most of the time actually—but Rita had been a good friend to him, and it was maybe the least he could do to act as a buffer for her.

Finally, he sighed. “Fine.”

“Ah, thank you, Raf!” She tossed her own textbook aside, leaning over to pull him into a forceful hug that he returned, albeit a bit stiffly.   

“But you’re on your own at Christmas,” he mumbled into her shoulder and he felt her laugh.

“I guess that’s fair.”

* * *

It wasn’t so bad, Rafael thought as Rita’s mother placed even more side dishes on the table. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen so much food for only four people in his life, but, according to Rita, she’d been very excited to hear that Rita was bringing a guest and had been cooking up a storm. It looked like all the American Thanksgivings he’d seen on TV growing up, golden turkey, mashed potatoes, some interesting looking green bean dish, sweet potatoes...it was never ending. 

It all looked delicious and he tried to ignore the pangs in his chest as he thought longingly of his grandmother’s croquetas and the fried sweet plantains his mother made to perfection. It had been easy to not think about them last year in front of his TV dinner, a giant Garfield balloon floating blurrily by on his tiny television, but here at Rita’s family table he realized just how much he missed it all.

Well, not all of it.

“So, Rafael, you’re a law student like Rita?” Rita’s mother, Joann she’d insisted on being called instead of Mrs. Calhoun, asked after they’d said grace.

He finished chewing a bite of turkey. “Yes, that’s right.”

“What kind of law do you want to practice?” Rita’s father, Richard, who was very much okay with being called Mr. Calhoun, asked. He was a large man with a deep voice who seemed to always have a frown on his face. He made Rafael nervous, especially as he worked on what Rafael counted as his fourth beer of the evening so far.

“I’m not sure yet,” Rafael answered honestly, doing his best to meet Richard’s eyes instead of looking down at his plate.

“Guess that’s better than Rita here. She wants to do criminal law, wants to prosecute people. The poorest paid attorneys there are.”

“Richard,” Joann chastised. Rafael could tell by her tone that they’d had this same conversation before. He glanced over at Rita, she’d lost her battle and was staring directly into her mashed potatoes.

“What? I’m not sure why I’m spending all my money for a Harvard law degree when she isn’t going to use it to earn anything. At least Leann was thoughtful enough to get that scholarship.” Richard pointed his fork at his wife as if to emphasize his point.

Rafael knew that Rita’s sister had a scholarship to the London School of Economics and could do no wrong in their father’s eyes. It was something Rita vented about often and he’d thought it was just normal sibling jealousy stuff—not that he knew firsthand—but maybe Rita was right.

“I just said I was thinking about being a prosecutor,” Rita said without looking up and it was the first time in their friendship that Rafael had seen her be meek. It had him off balance.

“Well, a law degree from Boston college is just as good and you coulda saved me a lot of money while you’re trying to figure out what it is exactly you want to do.” He drank from his beer again and Rafael tracked his every move.

“Richard, please,” Joann tried again to reel in her husband. “It’s Thanksgiving.” 

“Dammit, Joann!” Richard’s voice boomed and Rita looked up in time to see Rafael flinch, his hand clenched into a fist on top of the table. “This is my house and I’ll talk about whatever I want.”

“It’s just, we have a guest.” Joann’s voice wavered and Rafael felt himself begin to shake. He clenched his jaw tight, his fingernails digging into his palms as he tried to force his body to still, but it was no use.

“Yeah, first she wastes my money and then she brings home some brown kid and I’m just supposed to—”

“Okay, we’re done.” Rita stood and Rafael felt comforted by the strength in her voice, even if it was all for show. “Let’s go, Rafael.”

He stood slowly, praying his knees wouldn’t quiver when he did so, and said a quick prayer of thanks when they didn’t.

“Rita, sit down,” her mother pleaded, but Rita shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Mom, really, but…” she trailed off, but her meaning was clear.

“Let her go, Jo. We’re clearly embarrassing her in front of her fancy Harvard friend,” Richard sneered, shoveling some sweet potatoes into his mouth.

“Thank you for dinner, Mrs. C—Joann,” Rafael said shakily before meeting Rita at the door. She handed him his coat and was out the door before he even had a chance to put it on. He ran after her, putting his arms in the sleeves and hurrying to fasten the buttons.

They both climbed in her car and she started it to get the heat going, but she didn’t move to put it in drive. Instead he placed both hands on the wheel before laying her forehead in the middle of it. “I’m so sorry.”

“Does he,” Rafael hesitated, his breaths coming out in puffs in the still cold car. “Does he hit you?”

“What?” Rita popped her head up, looking at him wide eyed. “No, of course not. He’s bully when he’s drinking, but he’s not…” She trailed off, noticing the wild look in his eyes and remembering his physical reaction when her father had raised his voice. “Does your—is that why you won’t go home?”

“Let’s just go back to campus, okay?” He turned to stare out the windshield, the frost starting to clear thanks to the heat that was now pumping from the vents.  

Instead of reaching for the gearshift, Rita put a hand on his arm. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

Rafael swallowed, fighting the lump that had grown in his throat. “It’s nothing. I...I was just worried about you, that’s all. About your mother too.” He still didn’t look at her. “Is she going to be okay?”

“She’ll be fine. I promise, okay? He always gets all worked up, but he wouldn’t ever hurt her.”

Rafael just nodded, tears burning in his eyes as he thought of his own mother, how he’d abandoned her, left to deal with his father on her own, no one to jump in front of his fists to protect her.

“I begged her to leave him, you know?” he said quietly, his fingers fiddling with the knob on the window crank. “Before I left to come here I pleaded with her to come with me. Told her we could get a little place and I’d take care of her.”

“And she wouldn’t?” Rita asked, knowing exactly who he meant even though he hadn’t actually said it.

“She said she wouldn’t leave my grandmother, but I know that wasn’t all of it. I think she loves him, despite everything.” Rafael finally turned to look at her, unshed tears pooled in his eyes. “Do you think I’m a terrible son for leaving? For not going back?”

Rita shook her head. “No. Your mother’s decisions are her own and you needed to do what was best for you.”

He nodded, not entirely believing her. He often told himself he was doing this for her, that he’d get his law degree, get a job making great money and then he could get her out, but sometimes he wasn’t sure. “He said I’m selfish.”

“Your father?”

Rafael nodded again. “He said that I should stay home, get a job, help the family. That I think I’m better than him because I got a scholarship to Harvard. I told him he was wrong, that I  _ know _ I’m better than him, but not because of Harvard.”

Rita didn’t think she’d ever felt more proud of anyone as she did in that moment. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, and then he broke two of my ribs.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “It was worth it though.”

Rita was silent, not really sure what to say to that, and somewhere in the back of his mind Rafael found a sense of triumph at finally leaving Rita Calhoun speechless. “Let’s just go, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” She finally turned in her seat, buckling in and putting the car in drive.

The short trip back to Cambridge was silent, both of them with a lot on their minds and a new found understanding in one another.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Rafael said when she pulled the car to a stop in front of his building and she laughed sarcastically.

“Oh, my pleasure. Bet it made you rethink your stance on Christmas, right?”

“Um, not so much actually.” He laughed for real this time and she gave him a genuine smile.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Raf.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Rita.” He climbed from the car and gave her a quick wave as she pulled away before shoving his hands in his coat pockets and hurrying inside.

Once inside his apartment he tossed his keys on the counter and pulled the phone down from its cradle on the wall, dialing the number he still knew by heart. “Hi, Mami. It’s Rafi. Happy Thanksgiving.”


End file.
